The Song of Purple Summer
by GrlCalledLauren
Summary: And All shall know the wonder  of purple summer...
1. Whispering

A/N: Hello! So actually, I've been in an angst mood, especially being grounded, and i've been reading fiction (maybe because I a little too obsessed with Spring awakening..because it's Tres Awesome) and I either write or do poetry, and I took a long hiatus from writing, and yeah as I said; when you're grounded(even a week away from being 18) you need something besides moping and blasting depressing music..so Here it is! I have another chapter already for this, which I know, I know surprising coming from me. Okay so I don't own Glee(because would so still be happening if I did) and I don't own Jonathan Groff or Lea Michele; because (much to my dissapointment) it's still kind of illegal to own people, and I'd probably marry Jonathan Groff even I did (Yes I am fully aware of his sexuality; but If I can dream of owning people, I can certainly dream of this..don't tell my boyfriend..even though Jonathan Groff is beyond words.) So fantasies aside, here's my story:

* * *

Summer was always the hardest.

It was then, with summer longing on the fringes of springtime she could hear the promises whispered in the wind; invisible fingers toying in the dark tresses of her hair. It was then she could swear, he was there, arms encircling her waist as he promised her the world of Manhattan,as he planned out _their _future together..as Broadway's newest sensations; a deep laugh resonating within his broad chest skittering across the skies and promises dancing through her subconscious along the horizon with the setting sun.

_I love you._

I loved you.

Funny thing about the sun, though it was two faced..Just like him- promising the hopeful rays of morning as it rose in the east; only to give itself to the west; bring the darkening tendrils of night to claim it's sun starved victims. But wasn't that Jesse? The perfect gentleman, with his bronze colored locks, eyes burning holes deep into her soul, promising her his heart and ripping it away-

like…like magic.

She stands outside; palms open in a slightly over dramtic embrace with the sky, no one but herself and the sun..where she can close her eyes and breathe him in almost…remember them and him; because she's certain that's all she has left of him,

she's almost certain that's all she _wants _to have left of him- and she's glad no one can see her so vulnerable.

This is when she takes off her show face, and sets her mask on the shelf, this is when she allows herself to hurt and feel the pain, to embrace the summer longing; to deal with her own longing. This is when she isn't Rachel Barbra Berry* future Broadway star, this is when she isn't Rachel Berry* leader of new directions, or power couple to super jock Finn Hudson..

She's just Rachel,

The broken shell of a naïve girl who got her heart broken; because even though she's sixteen and grown up, she's still alone and she's still hurting.

She breaths,

Calming yoga breaths, that her college fund therapist taught her; though she'd never tell that turtle like man of her true heart's yearning and ultimate suffering. In and out like the ocean coming to shore…

In these moments she doesn't cry-

God, she was done crying over him, and further more she never saw the point in wasting her time with such petty sorrow..tears meant she was weak and she couldn't afford to be weak; she couldn't afford to break anymore than she had already broken.

No she doesn't cry, she breathes and she remembers.

And as the sun tempts it's way into the final hours of sunlight, dancing seductively, calling it's final bows for the day, she lets her mind wander breifly, if only for a moment, thousands of miles to the golden promises of Los Angeles California.

"Good night" she whispers, like she did when she was little on the evening star, only this plea is a secret message to the wind, to him…

_Do you still think about me? Can you still hear me heart beat as I do yours? Do you remember?_

_Do you care?_

_

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A/N:_ So there the first one! As I said another chapter already written, and will be up shortly. As for me continuing; here's what y'all need to understand: I write purely on inspiration; so if a better idea comes along or I have a muse I write with it. If it doesn't I don't update. This maybe a M story- it will be if I continue further, so I'm just going to put it as such..Read and reveiw because I cannot get better if no one tells me what I need to improve on, and leave me a message after the beep and I should return a reply promptly. Thanks for reading and I hope this wasn't too much a waste of time!

**See you with the stars**


	2. All that's known

A/N: So here's chapter two, as promised! I think I got all my crazy ramblings out in the first authors note... Okay so I guess i'll restate it: I don't own Jonathan Groff (even someday i'm going to marry him; because he could very well be bi..and yeah I'm dreaming; but leave to my delusions! Whatever keeps us going right?) Which God help me if I ever meet him, especially after Tisch school and acting..Or Lea Michele for that matter...I will not be a stalker I promise..anyhow I still own them (no matter how much I wish I did) I don't..and here's the next chapter! Enjoy

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He's always up to watch the sunrise.

No matter how late rehearsals run, no matter how much partying he'd done the night before, or the hangover he has; he has to watch the sunrise…

It's become a weird tradition, and if he had bothered to waste his time with childhood divinities and such a thing a faith; he would say he's 'religious' about this meticulous little habit he's developed.

But he isn't and he hasn't so he just does.

The sun rises in the east.

He knows that; and every morning as the little burning minx treads precariously on the horizon, skimming the white froth of the waves as they break over the shore, he likes to imagine, that he can hear her first morning's breath..rising with

the swell of her chest as her eye lids flutter over doe brown eyes-

No. Not her, this isn't about her.

It was all an act; because he isn't capable of loving someone..Love? Is that what this sick little obsession was? He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the mere thought.

No these little 'fantasies' if you will, were purely passing thoughts, occasional whims, if you will.

Love was for morons and fools beside themselves with delusions of grandeur and tinted pink hearts, an over dramatic romanticized take on a sickening tragedy, train wrecks, that most people were too stupid to foresee.

…But she was still there- everywhere.

It was like she was a virus that had infected him, pillow soft lips leaving a scalding impression on his own, her voice- the tiny tremor of the innocent soprano, a constant buzz in his ears

His mind

His heart…

She was everywhere, as was her heart beat beating with his own, almost…

No.

This..whatever the hell this was, it was pure imagination..

It was an act.

It was a mission.

It was nothing.

_It was a lie._

Because Jesse , didn't have remorse for anything; he didn't suffer consequences for anything, no repercussions (because those were for poor people and pathetic ingrates. Those were for the weak people he stepped on to achieve his inevitable fame)

This was just a fluke.

Because she belonged to him.

Not the other way around.

He was Jesse fucking St. James!

He didn't waste time tying himself to one girl, because he was much too desirable and talented for that.

It was a different girl every night..

And yet each night was a disaster.

It wasn't that the sex was terrible (or atleast he wasn't terrible)

…It just wasn't her.

It was almost his unraveling, coming undone every night tossing yet another Jesse fangirl to the side (there'd be more)

Because somehow even with the curtains drawn tightly shut, he still saw the stars…gold stars were kind of her thing..and he hates that he remembers that, everything about her.

The way she writhed beneath him, indecision clear on her eyes, always in need of a little persuasion.

Always reminding him that every girl beneath him, wasn't her, couldn't even come close to her.

So the next sunrise, he doesn't wait to tourture himself and watch it over a burning cup of coffee; he packs his things-

Because he thinks he understands this strange obsession as he walks the pathway at LAX, to go back to that god forsaken hell hole, full of Lima Losers and bible thumping hypocrites..

He has unfinished business. He needs closure, he needs to claim the one thing her never truly got from her.

Just prove to himself that she still belonged to him and he was still Jesse St. James .

He would finish breaking her completely, so this annoying indecision of what was left undone could stop haunting him.

It was just about sex that was it.

But he couldn't help but turn as he was just about to board the plane, because he could swear he could hear- feel her and the wind ruffled his hair separating the rust colored strands delicately, whispering into his ear…and just before he leaves this town of golden promises and dreams he sends back a secret message of message of his own to her…

_Do you still think about me? Do you remember? Do you care?_

But he knew the answer to that, he always had.

_

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A/N: _There you go! Tell me what you think..comments, concerns, kudos, flames...etc...But keep in mind I could be a very fragile person. So don't make me cry. Okay enough crazy for one author's note and if I haven't scared you off with my charming personality; well you deserve an award. Anyhow I'm slightly busy, college coming up which means plays and rehearsals and not a lot of free time. But if inspirations happens to touch me in the head, I'll find a way.

**See you with the stars**


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